


More Than Meets The Eye

by TheEmberGirl



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, and debating, being nobility sucks, but eventually they fall in love, is this even how you use tags?, questionable formatting around perspective changes, there's chess involved, what nerds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 16:23:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7648087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEmberGirl/pseuds/TheEmberGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lady Giselle Beilschmidt is to be married, and she is less than pleased about it. Stubborn, headstrong, and knowing she is no classical beauty, she has low expectations for her husband-to-be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Than Meets The Eye

**Author's Note:**

> Based off a [link](http://sidestuiff.tumblr.com/post/121582853354/arranged-marriage-au-starter-sentences) on tumblr, I used around half the points on there.

Lady Giselle Beilschmidt is to be married. Not for the first time she wishes she was not who she was, then she would have a choice in who she would marry and if she even wanted to do so in the first place, but she was nobility and that luxury was not afforded to her. She is the eldest child of a baron and the only daughter, to be sold off in marriage so her brother Ludwig won’t have to worry about her when he inherits. It is a relief to the entire household; that she knows. She is far too wilful and headstrong for a woman of her status, and does not have the classical beauty to temper it, which begs the question why the man she is betrothed to has settled for her. But what kind of man would marry a woman he has never courted either?

 

 

The Kirkland family was old nobility, but their wealth had slowly dwindled. So when a betrothal with a considerable dowry was offered, the heir had no choice but to agree. The rumours of why the Beilschmidt girl was not yet married were concerning, she was odd, the servants could be heard saying, and defected since birth.

 

 

Her betrothal is agreed to, and Giselle has a month before she is to be wed. A month which she is to spend at her betrothed’s estate, ingratiating herself to his family. She is prepared to hate him, this man she only knows the name of. Standing rigidly across from her as their parents exchange insincere greetings and compliments, Arthur Kirkland seems every inch the arrogant, self entitled young lord she expected him to be. He trails behind as the party moves towards the parlour, keeping pace beside her. As he makes to speak she readies herself to reply with utmost disdain.

‘I want to make something clear,’ he begins in a hushed tone, with a sincerity that has Giselle biting back the scalding remark she had readied. ‘I have about as much choice in this arrangement as you do, there was no other way my parents would let me be. Rest assured, Lady Beilschmidt, I will never touch you.’

Masking her surprise, Giselle shoots a glance at their parents.

‘I see we’re both against this,’ she keeps her tone neutral, only the slight twist of her lips betraying her true thoughts. ‘If that’s the case, it might be possible to sabotage our own wedding.’

 

 

Arthur stared at his bride to be, noting the glint in her oddly coloured eyes and her hint of a smirk. Perhaps it was the ridiculousness of the situation, but he let out a laugh and moments later she joined in. He studied her for a moment, now that they are no longer a hallway apart, and wondered why he’d paid so much heed to the talk of servants. Giselle’s appearance may have been unusual, but in no way could he call it a defect, besides, the way she spoke suggested wits, and he could live with that.

‘I’m afraid they probably won’t be too happy about that,’ he said ruefully, looking at the group of people walking in front of them.

He regretted speaking as a mask fell over Giselle’s features, her expression schooled and unreadable.

‘You’re right, they wouldn’t,’ she sighed.

For whatever reason, Arthur found himself sighing as well.

 

 

Tension reigns in the parlour as small talk is conducted. Giselle’s parents make occasional unsuccessful attempts to shoehorn her into the conversation while Lord and Lady Kirkland did the same with Arthur. The tea goes cold and the delicate pastries remain untouched, no one it seems had any appetite. Finally, mercifully, Lady Kirkland suggests that the Beilschmidt contingent is tired from their journey and they are thankfully ushered to the rooms in which they will be staying. Giselle examines her room, noting the possessions she had brought with her neatly arranged in the corner, and the small window that overlooks the garden. She cracks open the door and sees nobody, slipping outside she shuts the door silently, making sure to avoid being seen as she makes her way through the manor.

 

 

As soon as he had been dismissed from the parlour, Arthur had removed himself to the garden. The conversation had been stilted at best, and the atmosphere had been stifling. As he was leaving he had heard his parents expressing their frustration with Giselle. That girl was too stubborn and frigid, they said, and it was no mystery why she was still unmarried, since she had clearly not been blessed with beauty and yet refused to act like a proper future wife. Arthur couldn’t blame her though, as much as he disliked the arrangement as well, he at least remained in the comfort of his own home. The crunch of footsteps on leaves reached his ears and he stood up from the bench only to see Giselle looking as surprised as he felt.

‘Lady Beilschmidt,’

‘Giselle,’ she corrected him. ‘Lady Beilschmidt is my mother.’

He smiled and she did as well.

‘You must call me Arthur then,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid my parents don’t seem to like you.’

He wasn’t sure why he said that, but it seemed fair to warn to about her future in-laws.

‘I don’t think I like them much either,’ Giselle muttered. ‘Perhaps they’ll break the arrangement then.’

‘Perhaps,’ Arthur replied with as little conviction as she’d spoken.

‘I’ll show you around,’ he added, trying to push the conversation away from his parents’ greed.

Giselle nodded and he pointed out various flowers and trees that had grown there for a long time. At the centre of the garden were row upon row of neatly trimmed rose bushes, each with differently coloured flowers.

‘My mother loves roses,’ he explained, before he plucked a white rose the same shade as Giselle’s hair and offered it to her. ‘For you.’

Etiquette dictated that was what he should have done, but still Giselle hesitated, eventually she acquiesced, taking the rose slowly.

‘Thank you,’ she said uncertainly, seeming to have wanted to say more.

‘There you are!’

A new voice, irritated, called across to them. It was Lady Beilschmidt, accompanied by by her husband, as well as Arthur’s own parents. Giselle’s fair complexion paled further, but defiance shone in her eyes.

 

 

The lecture she receives on etiquette and propriety is long, but no more unbearable than any she has had in the past. Giselle keeps her expression blank, pretending to take in her mother’s pleas and her father’s admonishments. She has never listened, and she never will. Despite whatever they actually say, she knows that they are not entirely displeased. She got along with her betrothed, did she not? So when she is finally left alone, to think over her actions, that is exactly what she does. She cannot hate Arthur; that much she knows. Yet every fibre of her hates the fact their marriage will take place against her will. Against both their wills, something in the back of her mind reminds her. Despite this, she must carry out her duty to her family and follow through, but it doesn’t mean she’ll play her part obediently. The last thought satisfies her, and she smiles to herself. Turning her attention to the rose she has left on the bedside table, she retrieves it, smells its subtle scent, before pulling it apart petal by petal. The petals go between the pages of her favourite book, pressed flat so she can preserve them.

 

 

Days pass by and the parlour talk was as uneventful and clipped as ever. The torturous tea parties were brought to an end and the betrothed pair were left alone in each other’s company with the presence of a chaperoning servant each. Arthur knew his servant would report everything he said back to his parents, and he was sure Giselle thought the same about hers. Hence while the conversation flowed more naturally than when their parents were present, it merely flitted around the trivial and never touched on topics pertaining to each other or the wedding that loomed over both. It was almost funny, how they were to be married yet treated each other like the strangers that they in a way were. After a while of meaningless discussion, Giselle excused herself to the restroom. Neither she nor her servant returned, and Arthur dismissed his, leaving the parlour in favour of the library.

 

 

The servant is free to say anything to her mother, but Giselle has a letter from Ludwig to read. Her brother is in charge of the estate until her parents return, but somehow he has the time to write to his sister. She smiles at that sentiment. Ludwig misses her, and wishes her all the best with her new family. Overseeing an estate is a lot harder than he’d assumed, he says, but he’ll try his best. As he does with everything, Giselle thinks fondly. Her parents have left him in the dark about the circumstances of her marriage, she knows, else he would have argued valiantly against them on her behalf. She reads the letter twice more, laughing as her eyes scan over the passage about the hounds getting loose. Ludwig may not have mentioned how that had happened, but Giselle can hear his guilty voice in her mind as she reads the words. Eventually she carefully folds up the letter and stashes it among her books. She makes for the door, if she’s to be trapped here for the rest of her life, she might as well do some exploring before she’s properly bound.

 

 

She had the strangest penchant of appearing at the most inopportune times, Arthur thought as Giselle opened the library door. Upon seeing him she looked embarrassed at having been caught and immediately stepped back and closed the door.

‘You can come in,’ he called out with some amusement before the door completely closed.

For a moment the door remained opened by merely a sliver, then it was pushed inward again.

‘It’s nice to see you,’ Giselle said, no more sincere than she’d been in the parlour earlier.

‘I won’t tell anyone you were here,’

‘I’m grateful about that,’

She turned away from him and examined the library, seeming pleased at the amount of books she saw. Arthur watched as she moved to the chess table and picked up the white queen, twirling the piece in her fingers.

‘It’s funny how this is the most powerful piece on the board,’ she said wryly.

‘Why?’ Arthur asked with curiosity.

‘Because women are rarely allowed that much power in reality,’ Giselle sighed and set the piece back in it square of the board.

Arthur considered her answer then walked over to the table, standing across from her.

‘You seem to know the game quite well,’

‘Oh I do,’ she agreed. ‘Care for a match?’

Giselle’s eyes glittered as she asked and there was a subtle curl to her lips. This was already more eventful than any parlour conversation, so Arthur did not have much to lose.

‘Can’t say I don’t,’ he said as he took a seat. ‘You’re playing white, it’s your move.’

 

 

Winning is almost too easy for Giselle, Arthur plans his moves carefully but does not anticipate hers, she notices, and uses it to her advantage. The white queen checks the black king and the game is over. Her demure smile masks triumph, intended to aggravate, but Arthur takes defeat with grace.

‘You are a very formidable player,’ he tells her.

Giselle hesitates, unsure at how to respond

‘You’re better at chess than my brother,’ she says, and it’s the truth, Ludwig is terrible at chess.

Arthur seems to take this as a compliment, returning her smile with one more sincere than hers.

‘You have a brother?’ he asks. ‘Will you tell me about him?’

She is surprised into talking without thinking.

‘Ludwig is kind and smart,’ talking about her brother comes naturally to her. ‘But he wears his heart on his sleeve and his emotions on his face.’

‘Is that why he isn’t a good chess player?’ Arthur realises he’d interrupted. ‘Sorry, do go on.’

‘I never said he was bad,’ Giselle answers with some amusement, accepting the apology. ‘But you’re right, that is the reason.’

‘I just meant that I’m not particularly good at chess myself,’ his explanation is cut short by a laugh.

‘I knew what you meant,’ she speaks dismissively. ‘Now, you wanted to know about my brother, so I’ll tell you.

‘Apart from being bad at chess, Ludwig is good at most things he tries. He worries a lot, usually about the smallest things. He loves dogs; he’ll spend a whole afternoon at the kennels if he doesn’t have classes. He lets me join his classes, and the tutor keeps it a secret from our mother. He’s always courteous, even the servants adore him... Everyone does... He’s the perfect heir...’

Giselle hates that fact her voice is betraying her, trailing away into a whisper.

‘I miss him,’ she whispers, as her eyes sting.

Tears were rare for her, but the awfulness of the past week is taking its toll.

‘You can always invite him here,’

She notices Arthur isn’t looking at her, and understands he means the best. But pity is not what she wants or needs and she stands up abruptly.

‘It is probably best that I return to my room,’ Giselle forces down her emotions and keeps her voice neutral. ‘Thank you for the chess game. You’re not actually that bad, you know.’

‘We should play again,’ Arthur looks up at her. ‘You could tell me what I’m doing wrong.’

‘Maybe,’ Giselle replies, already halfway out of the room.

 

 

He hadn’t meant to upset her. Watching the library door, Arthur knew Giselle was long gone. He’d only meant to make her feel welcome, but feared he’d wasted his chance. Since his parents had arranged this match, Arthur had known it would be a loveless marriage. Over the last few days he’d hoped that at the very least they would be on friendly terms, something that now looked to be an impossibility. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, staring at the disarray of chess pieces, not knowing what he had expected as he began to rearrange them. At their next meeting Giselle composed herself as if nothing had happened, calm as ever, yet keeping that hint of cold sullenness that Arthur’s parents despised so much about her. Their farcical conversation had not changed, and he wasn’t sure whether that was a relief or a disappointment. After retiring from the meeting in order to skulk in the library, a move he refused to think of as fleeing, Arthur was less than pleased to hear the door creak open.

‘Leave me alone,’ he ordered harshly, thinking it was a servant acting his parents’ orders.

‘Very well then,’

The voice at the door held a tone of contempt that no servant would have used. Without having to look Arthur knew it belonged to Giselle and his stomach twisted.

‘Wait,’ he called impulsively as she made to leave. ‘I didn’t think it was you.’

Embarrassment kept him from issuing a proper apology, but it had been enough.

 

 

Giselle hesitates at the door, then studies Arthur for a moment to gauge his sincerity before re entering the room.

‘I thought I’d take up your offer of another game,’ she speaks after a measured silence, and steps past him towards the chess table without waiting for a reply.

‘I’d appreciate that,’

‘Good,’ Giselle pushes a white pawn forward. ‘Your move.’

Her pointed echo of his words from the previous game elicits a smile from Arthur, and her resolve to remain cold towards him weakens. The game progresses, and Giselle stops Arthur at almost every move to point out the mistakes he’d made. In the end victory remains hers, albeit by a narrower margin. Giselle glances across the table, a ghost of a smile flickering across her face.

‘We’ll see how much you remember from that next time,’ she rises as she speaks, but hopes the promise in her words would not go unnoticed by Arthur.

 

 

Their library meetings became commonplace, a daily ritual without the interruption of their parents or servants. Arthur suspected they were aware, for nothing ever quite escaped the rumour mill among the servants, but for whatever reason they had simply just chosen not to act on them. Apart from her skill in chess, which Arthur would claim he was becoming more proficient at, Giselle was also well versed in fine literature. From classics to the occasional journal, he found there wasn’t much she wasn’t willing or able to debate with him over. She was truly an unusual noblewoman, just as Arthur had suspected from the start. No wonder her parents were so adamant in ridding themselves of her - intelligent, well educated, and opinionated, she would have seemed a nightmare to most potential suitors. Even as Arthur thought his, he knew it wasn’t the case for him, if his betrothal had been to a woman as meek as his parents would have preferred, all he would have had to look forward to in his marriage would have been boredom. Giselle would at least be good company, even if she never wanted anything to do with him. It was these thoughts that kept Arthur up some nights, and late on one particular night he heard music as struggled to calm his mind. The sound of a flute, which struck him as odd; he did not recall anyone who played that instrument. He found himself slipping out of his room to follow the music that floated through the manor, ethereal yet piercing, with a keening tone of sadness. Standing outside the room Giselle was staying in, on the other side of the manor, Arthur felt foolish, but raised a hand to knock on the solid wood of the door.

 

 

Annoyance fills Giselle as her sonata is interrupted. If it is her mother, here to lecture her once again on propriety, she will likely lose her patience. She sets down her flute and opens the door with more force than necessary and blinks in surprise as Arthur looks sheepishly at her. Giselle fights the surge of amusement to keep the annoyed expression on her face, but either way she is in no mood for conversation. Gesturing for him to enter, she nods to a chair and retrieves the instrument, pettily beginning her piece from the start. As she knows; it is a long piece and will deprive both she and her audience of sleep. Satisfied with her decision, Giselle takes a sideway glance at Arthur during a rest, and feels a swell of pride at his appreciative expression. She returns to the music, refocusing her attention on it as the notes crescendo and taper, not daring to look again. The room is dark, lit only by dim candlelight, so she plays from memory. Reaching the end of the sonata, Giselle dips habitually into a shallow curtsy before she remembers who her audience is. Arthur makes no impression of having found her gesture odd.

‘That was lovely,’ he murmurs, a hint of drowsiness in his voice. ‘I won’t have any trouble sleeping after hearing you play.’

Giselle smiles despite herself.

‘Are you implying my playing is boring?’ she asks, laughing as Arthur’s expression changes from contentment to alarm. ‘I know you didn’t mean that.’

Arthur relaxes at her reassurance, and Giselle finds his previous panic amusingly endearing.

‘However,’ she continues. ‘Judging from that, you should probably sleep.’

She sets down her flute to open the door, waiting for Arthur to get up.

‘Goodnight,’ she says as he leaves, tiredness having loosened her tongue as well. ‘Sleep well.’

‘You too,’

 

 

The image of Giselle smiling softly from her doorway, lit by moonlight, remained imprinted on Arthur’s mind as he fell asleep. The next morning brought yet another farce of a tea party, surprisingly the silently intrusive presence of chaperoning servants was not there, but his relief was short lived as his parents, followed Lord and Lady Beilschmidt, entered the room. It was evidence that Arthur’s midnight excursion had not gone unnoticed, and word had gotten to his parents, who’d in turn informed Giselle’s. Despite the tension their presence in the room caused, neither set of parents spoke a word, let alone made a mention of the previous night’s event. Arthur distracted himself by pouring a cup of tea, he felt his mother’s disapproving gaze on him as he lifted it and promptly remembered etiquette, passing the cup to Giselle instead. She smirked at him as she accepted it, face angled so no one else could see, it was clear that she had similar thoughts to him. Strained silence filled the room as each party seemed stubbornly determined to avoid starting the conversation, the only words that breached the silence was the occasional request for sugar or a pastry to be passed. Every now and then, Arthur made discreet eye contact with Giselle, and was met with either a subtle smile or glare towards her family. Eventually the older nobility became tired, and the meeting was adjourned after a few final disappointed looks directed towards their offspring.

 

 

Once again, Giselle makes to the garden in search of a refuge. It has been over two weeks since her arrival and a sense of inevitability is crushing upon her.  It would have been so much easier just to hate Arthur, but instead the feeling akin to friendship she has toward him complicates their situation.  Frustrated she lets herself fall heavily onto the ground beneath a tree, ignoring the dirt that stains her skirts and digging her fingers into the grass.

‘Whatever did the grass do to offend you?’

Arthur’s voice is tinged with humour and Giselle doesn’t bother hiding her amusement as she looks up at him.

‘What makes you think I’m offended?’ she asks with the same playful tone.

They share a laugh and Giselle props herself up against the trunk before accepting the hand Arthur offers her. His laughter fades as she stands and an unexpected feeling of dread washes over her.

‘I think we both have the same thoughts,’ he begins, and she makes no move to stop him. ‘This entire arrangement won’t work out, it’s a mistake and it would be best if we didn’t go through with this.’

Giselle can tell from his tone that Arthur is serious about this suggestion, and an implacable emotion fills her as bitter laugh erupts from her mouth.

‘Don’t be silly, Arthur,’ her tone comes out harder than she intended and she immediately softens it. ‘We’re both in the same situation here. We both have to go through with this to placate our families.’

Absently she dusts soil from her skirt, waiting for a response and continuing when one doesn’t come.

‘Besides, before I came here I was expecting my fiancé to be absolutely insufferable,’

‘So you don’t think I am “absolutely insufferable”?’

Giselle isn’t able to tell if he was joking.

‘Of course not,’ she decides to act as if he were. ‘I wouldn’t be talking to you right now if you were. You’re a lot more interesting than I expected anyone my parents chose to be.’

‘And you’re…’ Arthur trails off then hurriedly continued as she raised an eyebrow at him. ‘You’re a lot less unwilling than I thought you would be.’

‘I have a duty to my family,’ Giselle retorts, and it is half the truth.

Duty does bind her but, had Arthur not been as accommodating as he was, she would never have made even the slightest attempt to be civil towards her future in-laws. She hides these thoughts and gives Arthur a smile, before mentioning that it’s about time she tested him on his chess skills.

 

 

He was falling in love with her and it scared him. Everything their marriage was to be built on was wrong, and Giselle may never feel the same way towards him. He shouldn't have feelings for her but yet he did, which was why he'd offered to try and break the arrangement. But Giselle had refused, and Arthur had almost told her she was prettier than he'd expected her to be and that would have ruined the conversation they were having. What he'd said instead wasn't that much better but at least he hadn't angered her. Giselle liked him, and that very thought gave him a feeling of elation. Even if she'd just said she didn't find him insufferable, something about the way she'd spoken told Arthur she'd meant more than that. That was likely as far as her feelings went though, and so he resolved to keep his own to himself as the days counted down to the wedding.

 

 

Conflict is not a feeling Giselle likes, but something has changed about what she feels about Arthur and she tries to distract herself from analysing it. Too bad the feelings grow each time she uses playing chess or debating as a distraction. Finally there is no ignoring it any longer, and she is conflicted. She reminds herself that this was an arrangement, something she completely despises, and yet, somehow, she knows she is beginning to fall for her betrothed. The wedding that comes nearer each day no longer feels like a prison sentence, but Giselle’s pride barely allows her tell herself that, and Arthur will never be told, even as the smiles she gives him every time they meet become more frequent.

 

 

It was the night before the wedding and Arthur paced his room before making a decision. Perhaps he shouldn’t do what he was intending to, but he just needed to know. He finds his way to Giselle’s room in the dark, even without the flute music to guide him this time. She looked as bemused as she did the last time she opened the door, and once again Arthur wondered if he was doing the right thing. But the need to know what the next day held for him was stronger than doubt, even if what he was about to ask could lead to embarrassment and a perpetual strain between him and Giselle, he was already at her door, and he could not turn back now.

‘I know this has been arranged, but I want to do this properly,’ the words came out in a rush and Arthur almost loses his balance trying to kneel and reach for Giselle’s hand at the same time. ‘Will you marry me?’

Giselle’s hand was slack in his and her surprise soon gave way to laughter.

‘You know I don’t have a choice,’

 

 

She is teasing him with her reply, but Arthur doesn’t seem to know it.  His disappointment is genuine and that somehow makes her laugh again, closing her hand around his.

‘But even if I did have a choice, the answer would still be yes,’

 

 

Their wedding day arrives and everything goes without a hitch, much to the undeserved joy of both sets of parents. It was traditional for the bride not to be seen until the ceremony but Giselle had never been one for tradition. Arthur blinks at her, radiant in her bridal finery, before remembering they are in the church garden.

‘Shouldn’t you be in one of the chambers?’

His question is met dismissively.

‘My parents are distracted right now. Come, I want you to meet someone.’

She leads them into the church, where a solitary figure sits in the pews. As they enter, the figure looks up, and moments later he has run towards them.

‘Giselle!’ the blond haired boy exclaims as he embraces his sister. ‘I’ve missed you so much! Lessons aren’t as nearly fun without you arguing with the tutor, and neither is anything else.’

Giselle disentangles herself and adjusts her veil.

‘Arthur, this is my brother Ludwig. I thought the two of you should meet.’

She slips away to where her parents expect to find her as the two engage in polite conversation, already feeling they would become friends.

When her father gives her away, Giselle makes sure to stay a step in front of him, knowing the decision was hers to make, and as vows where exchanged, she spoke hers freely.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not entirely happy with the ending, it's a little rushed but this story was getting dragged out for a little too long. Also, Germany makes a cameo because he's my fave.


End file.
